


How Many Times?

by MorbidAesthetic



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Other, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 15:54:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11383449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorbidAesthetic/pseuds/MorbidAesthetic
Summary: Netherlands walks in on Romano holding a gun to his head. He does his best to talk him down.





	How Many Times?

“Hey, Romano, have you seen my-” He cut off when he opened the door to the Italian’s room. The smaller nation had a pistol in his hands, and was holding it up to his temple.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you to knock, you bastard?!” Romano yelled at him, quickly hiding the pistol under the bed. “What the hell are you doing here anyway, Netherlands?”

“Looking for my sister.” 

“Well she’s not here so you can just get the hell out!” He yelled, walking over to the door and slamming it in the blonde’s face. Netherlands stood there for a moment before knocking on the door again. He wasn’t just going to walk away. 

“Romano, open the door.” He said, waiting for a response. He hadn’t heard a gunshot yet, so he assumed that he was still alive, or at least not “dead” in the sense that countries were.

“Go away!” 

Instead of knocking again, he opened the door to find the teenager sitting with the same pistol he had previously pushed under his bed in his lap. Romano didn’t turn around, but stiffened when he heard the door open.

“Go away.” His voice had quieted down, and Netherlands could swear that the Italian was crying. The older nation quietly moved towards him, trying to be subtle.

“Romano, give me the gun.” The blonde said, inching closer to the Italian. 

“No! I have to do this.” Romano was definitely crying now. He still didn’t turn to face the Dutch nation, instead just sitting on the bed with his hand on the grip of the gun.

“You do not have to do this. Just give me the gun. I won’t call Spain.” He said, moving closer to the Italian.

“Don’t come any closer to me.” The hand holding the pistol returned to his temple, with the gun shaking in his grip. 

“Romano-”

“If you come any closer I’ll pull the trigger.” 

“Fine.” Netherlands stopped moving towards the Italian, instead just watched the Italian shake for a moment, before lurching forward and snatching the pistol out of his hands.

Romano didn’t try to stop him, instead just ended up crying and sobbing into his own hands. The older nation stood there for a moment, not sure how to react to a crying teenager. Netherlands knew he should call Spain, but he said he would not, and he was nothing if not a man of his word.

“Romano-”

 

“Shut up! Just shut up!” He yelled, punching him weakly in the leg. “Why couldn’t you just let me do it? Spain would be better off, everyone would be better off!” 

“What is the point of trying? You’ll regenerate.” 

“I don’t care! As many times as it takes, I will be gone, and the world will be better for it! There doesn’t even need to be two Italy personifications!” Romano continued, his green eyes mixed with anger and tears.

“Spain never shuts his mouth when he talks about you.” Netherlands said, a simple fact that had annoyed him for weeks. The Spanish nation would never stop talking about Romano most of the time, the few times that they would ever talk.

“Shut your face. No he doesn’t.”

“Whatever.” 

“What are you doing?”

“Dialing Spain.” 

“Stop that, you bastard!” 

“No.”

Netherlands put the phone to his ear, listening for when he picked up. The Spanish nation picked up on the third ring, sounding surprised.

“Netherlands! You don’t usually call me. Is something wrong?” 

“No, I just have Romano here and he wants to talk to you.” He replied.

“I do not, you blonde bastard!” 

The Dutch nation handed him the phone anyway, forcing him to talk to Spain.

Netherlands sat down across from the Italian, watching him talk to his caregiver warily. He wasn’t entirely sure if what he just witnessed was the first time it had happened, or if Romano had tried to kill himself before and he either wasn’t successful or screwed up and managed to live through it. 

Only a few of the nations actually knew what happened to those who tried to kill themselves or died in battle somehow. They would be unconscious for a few days, but they would eventually regenerate and have repercussions for a while.

It put strain on their country, and left the entire country in their rulers’ hands, whether they were capable or not. Once the country regenerated, they were rarely the same as they were before, whether or not the people they were close to noticed.

Of course, most nations had tried at least once. Netherlands personally knew that all of the Soviets, whether or not they were depressed now, had tried three times each. The Nordics, excluding Iceland, had all tried at least twice, and Netherlands knew that Iceland had attempted at least once. Netherlands liked to keep track.

Usually Switzerland would look after those nations, however they had died. He was the one to look after most nations after wars, and Liechtenstein helped when she could, usually making food or helping him bandage injuries that would eventually scar. The Swiss may never admit it, but he was actually quite kind, much like his sister.

Once Romano had finished talking to Spain, Netherlands took his phone back and then the Italian was uncharacteristically silent for once.

“So?”

“Whatever, you stupid bastard.” Romano sulked, avoiding looking at Netherlands.

“How many times have you tried this?”

“None of your goddamned business!”

“How. Many. Times?”

“Four.” He muttered under his breath, but the Dutch nation still heard him.

“How many times have you succeeded?”

“Twice. Switzerland helped me cover it up so Spain wouldn’t see.” He was still mumbling, and refused to look at the blonde. Netherlands could barely hear him. It was such a contrast from his usual yelling.

“Of course he did.” 

“Thanks, Lars.” Romano muttered, so quiet that the older could barely hear him.

“You’re welcome, Lovino.” The Dutch nation replied, leaving the room with the pistol stowed in the back of his pants. He wasn’t about to leave it with the Italian.


End file.
